


Jester

by AstraKiseki



Category: Exalted
Genre: Bad Jokes, Dragonblooded, Jokes, M/M, Mortals, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-12
Updated: 2012-02-12
Packaged: 2017-10-31 01:01:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/338173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstraKiseki/pseuds/AstraKiseki





	Jester

The throne had bore the exhaustion and grief of seven kings, and now it bore its eighth's pain with the same stoic silence as a younger-looking man sunk down into its arms with a resigned sigh, his eyes shut in the long, empty hall. Slowly, he opened his eyes, finding himself still alone, and sunk his face down into his hands, breathing in the smoky warmth of the ceremonial room and savoring the rare, rare chance to dwell in melancholy. He had ruled for a century, and knew he would likely rule several more if fortune bore any sort of ill or kind feelings towards him, and there were times where even a Prince of the Earth could find his burden difficult.   
  
"My liege?"   
  
The king sighed softly, smirking under his hands at the precise timing of the speaker. "Yes, Vert?" It could be no other, not when he was in this sort of mood. Most mortals avoided him when he was stalking the halls late at night, unable to sleep, or simply unwilling to do, but not his jester; none of them had ever retreated from him in these moods.   
  
"Not doing my job, am I?" The man inquired mildly in his rich, deep voice.   
  
"You are doing it as fine as you always do, jester." Archer glanced up at Vert, fighting to not roll his eyes at the outrageously garish colors he could see of the man's clothes with even a moment's glimpse before retreating back into the security of his palms. "But sometimes a king would like to indulge in a good mope."  
  
"Majesty, much merriment melts into my mad mind with that mumbled mandate, but a man may not manage to make their Majesty melancholy." Archer could see Vert settle a foot away, kneeling with a smirk as he continued his words. "So please, leaf me an idea to branch out on, beyond barking up the tree of sorrow?" Archer spread his fingers to _glare_ at the grinning jester for the _old_ joke on his Exaltation. "Oh come on now," The mortal put a hand on his hip as he waggled his finger at the Wood Aspect, "I _know_ a certain gray-eyed lad uses wordplay like that on you all the time."   
  
"Yes," Archer sat up straight, trying not to smile at the thought of a little boy in another wing of the castle, curled up with his usual fever, "But your clever little _son_ only does that, instead of slapstick, pantomiming, costuming, pranks, and other physical humor." He sat up, leaning against the cushioned backing of his throne, now definitely smiling as he let his eyes rake down Cyrano's sturdy form. "Among other things."  
  
Other things that were as unwholesome as Vert Cyrano's expression as he slowly inclined his head downward, his hand over his heart. "Of course, my liege. So what will it be?" Slowly, the jester inched forward while reminding on one knee, his eyes almost glowing with anticipation. "I could polish your scepter," Vert made a loose fist, lazily shaking it up and down as he continued, "or partake of your generosity or..." With the euphemism of each lewd act, the Dragon-blooded ruler had to cover his face once more, chuckling as the entertainer acted out precisely what it was.  
  
"Just come up here." Archer curled his fingers, beckoning the Cyrano forward into his lap. "I don't seek laughter, my friend." His hands snaked across the mortal's chest, not even bothering with Essence as he pulled down on the jester's hideously colored tunic. As he had expected, the vile orange thing ripped away smoothly, one of the entertainer's many, many props, not that the Wood Aspect wanted to complain as he wove his fingers into Vert's hair. "Down on your knees, Cyrano, and just shut the hell up."  
  
It was a familiar thing for them both, but it never stopped being wonderful, the way each and every one of his jesters had their own way of moving downward to their knees. Elodie would first unravel her long, long auburn hair before descending, Argento preferred spitting on his hand before approaching the ground, and Vert, well, was fairly unceremonious as he fell, smirking as his hand cupped his liege lord. The gesture was far, far more straight forward than his mother, or even his great-grandfather, would have ever begun with, both before Vert preferring to tease, to draw out the knot of heat within the thick root of his lust into a conflagration bright and hot enough that the Wood Aspect almost feared would begin to sear himself. Archer maintained his grip on his jester's dark hair, watching Vert release his cock from the confines of his clothes, both men staring at the gently curved shaft before the mortal leaned in, setting his lips against the proud, dark tip, wetting them with the glistening liquid already dribbling from the tip, then opening his mouth as he slid the Dragonblooded's hardness inward, into slick heat.   
  
Archer let out a shuddering sigh, letting his head lull back as Vert's heated lips pressed downward, his deep voice finally silenced as he bobbed his head greedily up and down the Wood Aspect's cock. The silence lasted only a moment as the jester's mouth rumbled, a groan buried under the column of flesh driving down his throat before it was muted again, choked off by a stern press of the Dragonblooded's foot against the man's own hardness, a jerk of a firm hand up slightly for attention. Archer could see a green eye roll up with annoyance on the distant edges of his hungry gaze, the muscles of Cyrano's body trembling ever so slightly with some sort of effort, even as the flesh underfoot throbbed in time with his heartbeat.   
  
"The 'just shut the hell up' was an order as well, Cyrano." The king whispered sternly as he let his head fall back against the soft cushions behind him, a groan rumbling deep in his throat. They had all had their different talents, different ways, and while Vert wasn't quite the best in this, never had quite been the best, compared to his kin, but Mela be spanked and chained if the green-eyed jester didn't seem to enjoy just about _anything_ asked of him, where his mother had declined even the risk of his Terrestrial seed in her womb, where Argento never even gave Archer the opportunity to propose something with him bent over. "You have a wonderful voice, but _Dragons_ ," Archer sucked in a startled breath at the sensation of the mortal suckling at his cock, more than enough force to force the king to grit his teeth, to _not_ come yet, "that buzzing is obnoxious."  
  
It was almost comedic, the dejected expression on the jester's face as he knelt there before his king, with his lord's arousal still half-buried in his mouth before he shut his eyes with a shrug, deciding not to argue. Even with Vert's hand reaching up, lightly, almost delicately squeezing around his cock, his tongue swirling around the very tip of the rod before him before lunging downward to meet his hand, every flick and pull sending shivers of pleasure up the Wood Aspect's spine, it couldn't drown out the even greater relief of one of his Cyranos not talking back, after years and years of cheerful retorts and solemn advice crouched behind mockery, or sincere concerns about his emotions.  
  
A faint graze of teeth, barely there, just across the very, very crest of his cock, made him let out a raspy groan, his hips reflexively thrusting upward. If it had been an Exalt, he would have been enraged at them daring to risk him and his lineage in such a way, but this was Vert, and while the man _could_ be demented enough to bite down, he was also quite aware that a hint of pressure, honed by other more mischievous fools, was one of Archer's weaknesses in this. Instead of growling, or even speaking, the Terrestrial ruler gripped Vert's hair again and shoved his head down, deep enough to ensure not a drop would be found in the morning on the Tellemaire throne as he shuddered into a needed orgasm, a wave of heat and ecstasy enough to wash away the depression crawling about in the back of his mind.   
  
Archer gave a curt nod to the grinning jester, still kneeling there naked, and with a trace of his semen on his dark face. "Now," He reached for Vert again, settling his nude body into his lap, his own Exalted hand wrapping around the mortal's shaft, "I think I could use a laugh."


End file.
